This Is For You In Confidence
by jesuisnique
Summary: So open it alone, so I can earnestly reveal my thoughts to you. (Emma's letter from "It's 2 In The Morning")


Dear Regina;

forever isn't long enough, so you can have my next 5 minutes. I know what you're thinking, that 5 minutes isn't at all like forever and is nowhere near as long. Well baby (can I call you baby? is that okay? I know you're not one for terms of endearments - you throw "my dear" around like it's going outta style - but I think that you're my baby and I'm your man. Yeah, yeah, I can see the skeptical raise of your perfectly sculptured eyebrow and the twitch of your scintillating pursed lips as you think that yes, I am indeed a "man" due to my "lack of feminine qualities and attributes" - and yes, Ruby did tell me what you said last week and I'll be damned if I'm going to let that go in a hurry - but the thing is, is that it works for us, y'know? Like you're the Bacall to my Boogie and I'm the Jack to your Rose. We're just a cliché, baby. A damn, over used cliché that I'm 100% okay with) you have obviously never stared into your own eyes before like I have.

'Cause you see baby, those eyes of yours are killer queens. They're like two supernovas, shinning so brightly that I'm scared I'm not going to be able to catch up with them before they fade away.

Now now, don't you even dare scoff or sneer at that, because what I just wrote is the fucking truth.

You seem to be so full of everything that everything you are tries to escape through your irises. You're such a sensitive person, you know? It's like you feel things with such a burning ferocity that you try you're hardest not to feel at all. Regins, take it from a person who has trouble feeling anything by a chilling apathy (expect when I'm near you. Or thinking about you. Or touching you by accident. Or breathing in the smell of Mademoiselle by Channel when we're invading each others personal space and your eyes are threatening to burst and all I want is for them to explode and for me to get lost in the blast and then we'll kiss in the shadows of your dilating pupils and ignite a passion so strong that we'll both be breathless and shaking and so in _something_ that you'll kiss me for forever and five minutes or until I pass out) feeling things is something you shouldn't be scared of.

It's something you should embrace wholeheartedly: and if you are afraid of getting your heart torn to pieces by a uncaring world then have mine; throw it around however violently as you wish because the only thing that is capable of breaking my heart is your smile and I don't think you can smile with your hands - though I would not be surprised if you can - so I think in that respect I am fine. I also think that I'm too empty sometimes, but then again you're too full so I guess we even each other out? I mean, you're this vivacious woman, all curves and swaying hips with a hint of promise hanging onto the ends of your eyelashes and I'm this this this, oh dammit I don't know!

I'm just _this_.

That's all I am.

And you're _you_.

And I am a better this whenever I am with you. That's the honest truth and I pray every night to the God that has turned his fucking back on me that you will believe me when I tell you this. That you'll believe me when I tell you how _you_ you are.

Regina, you make me want to spend each breath telling you how magnificent you truly are. You make me want to dig my fingers into your shoulders and scrape the image I have of you deep into your _ohsovery_ strong bones. You make me want to write symphonies about the way your back muscles stretch and contract with every languid move of your body.

Regina, you make me want to cry sometimes because I never once believed perfection could exist (and then I saw you in the moonlight, standing on your front porch with bright eyes, looking so tragically ugly with worry that all I could think was "oh damn, she's fucking beautiful" and all at once I knew I was lost. And then you spoke for the first time and at that moment I knew I never wanted to be found. So I guess the term "lost cause" is one that I embody perfectly), even when I small and naïve as a biscuit (yes, biscuits can be naïve dammit, it's 3 in the morning, don't judge me) I never once believe that perfection was real.

Which actually says a lot about me.

Huh.

You know, I never realised how much of a grumpy old bastard I was until I met you. I was always so focused on how horrible everything is that I never really took the time to look for the beauty in the broken things I was surrounded by. But I've learnt from my mistakes baby, I always do, and I have spent so much of my time looking at your broken, brilliant self that I am near certain I can traverse your body with such a startling ease that it will seem as though the both of us were made for the other, like the sky was made to hold the stars back from being too much for humanity to handle; almost as if the emptiness inside my battered soul was made to hold everything yours can't.

You know that I will kiss every inch of your olive skin with your permission. That I'll whisper my secrets into your collar bones and then I'll trace my name into the constellations on your back and laugh when your heart murmurs my name back to me. And once I've done that, I'll breath in your sins so you don't have to carry them around anymore. I'm used to carrying the dirty things of my past on my shoulders, so yours shouldn't weigh me down too much (and if they do, then it's a burden I am more than happy - and damn proud - to wear around my brow like a crown made of sapphire and silver).

You're something else.

I think you should know that.

I think that you should know just how much you mean to someone, how much you inspire them by simply being, how instantly you stuck to someone (just like a spaghetti sticks to a wall or a piece of gum sticks to your hair), how memorable your laugh is, how long your legs are, how you have really nice boobs (like, I  
mean they are seriously nice, 10/10 Regina), how the nape of your neck is made to be kissed and the short hair there made to be pulled. Oh God, I sound so fucking stupid right now, but Regina you make me want to believe in infinities and tonights, sempiternities and sometimes, eternities and everydays.

I am a non-believer in most things, but never in you.

And then I think about you and what you are and then I realise that you are everything that is good and everything that is bad and everything that is in-between and since I believe in you I believe in everything else. I believe in long days spent in bed with nothing but a warm body and small eternities made and broken with each exhale. I believe in dark nights spent under dirty street lamps, singing the hours 'til dawn away like we have all the dawns until the death of Time Himself left to spend together, laughing and dancing to the beat of our too fast hearts, and then stealing kisses just because. I believe, oh God how I believe, in spinning around in the rain during a thunderstorm because the feeling of rain hitting my sun burnt shoulders feels like your voice does;_ indescribably fantastic._

Regina, baby, you don't know just how much I believe now. I believe in you so much that it hurts my heart.

I can't fight this, I refuse to fight this, so I won't.

I won't and I refuse.

I refuse to not let myself feel what you make me feel.

I won't refuse the feelings you evoke within me.

I won't.

I refuse.

It's 4 in the morning Regina. It's _4 in the fucking morning_ and all I want to do is sleep and dream of you and what we could be if only you let me in (which is not magnificent, if that's what you're thinking. No, we'd be something more than a cliché written by someone who has run out of ideas and is only capable of re-writing everything they've ever read. We would be something _so,_ that we'd be us. Which makes no sense but roll with it baby 'cause as I've said it's stupid o'clock in the morning and I think I've left my coherence with my sanity, and for the life of me I can't remember where I put them).

So Regina, so baby, so you!

When you read this I want to keep an open mind and an open heart. I want to put your faith in the dots of my "i's" and in the commas separating the truth of my words. I want you to believe in the earnest way I end my sentences and in how fit your ass is (seriously though, you have a very fit ass. Well done Regina). I need you, truly deeply madly need you, to believe in me.

That's all.

Really.

That's all I'll ever need from you. Your simple belief in my not so simple self. I need you to wake up in the morning after reading this (or whenever you read it, I don't care) and think, "Emma Swan, I love you" and from that moment on believe in those 5 words forever (or for the next five minutes, since forever isn't nearly as long). And then once you do I'll come over and we'll kiss and then I will very loudly announce to your absolutely stunning face that I love your youness and that is that.

(ps take note of this because I have written it in huge letters so that means I am dead serious about it)

(pps this is Emma in case you were wondering)

(ppps I think that the lipstick I'm wearing now would look good on the back of this envelope so I'm gonna do that)

(pppps you looked really pretty today)

(ppppps I love you)

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own stuff._

_I don't even know what I just wrote guys. _

_I just don't even know._

_It doesn't make any sense (but then again if i were emma in that situation i guess being cohesive would be pretty damn difficult so yeah)_

_(i give up with this ship)_

_(also i am very sorry about this crap)_

_(and i shameless took the title and the description thingy from the song "For You In Confidence" by Chris Rubeo)_


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